Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man.

Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.

An undevout astronomer is mad.

Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.

By all means use some time to be alone.

Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.